Touchdowns

Goal post dreams beset his soul,
roar of crowds bore in haunting vaporize images,
how the heart could feel every victory
the body missed when scrimmaging against
all the impossibilities.
He was a god upon the high school campus
for the fleeting months of fall,
rest of the year spent reliving each glory,
dying underneath his illusion’s face mask
because it wasn’t more than a game,
no scholarships waited to complete his fantasies
to the university’s that were portals to the pros.

At home the trophy shelf
was a tribute to his father’ obsession
having forged his life to model the athlete
which his dad had never been.

It felt good to gain that first award,
but they became hollow shells of pride
when it didn’t fill the emptiness
spreading as a cancer inside.

What aches his soul
was the denial of self in that jock mask worn
smothered the heart of his passions,
calling forth in the night as a seductress,
the endless symphony of questions
on ways he could satisfy his cravings
for more than sweat and running,
where is that touchdown for his life
that would make it more than a uniform?

On the field he silenced his fears,
all the moaning creatures from his anxiety
over spending his life
always practicing and never feeling any real peace.

Letterman’s jacket clothed his secrets,
knowing it would fade in time
hoping he’ll find some game plan
where the being trapped within
finally gets to be first string.